


Greed: The Victim of Twisted Curiosity

by ChuckTingle



Series: The Seventh Sin [2]
Category: Zanki Zero: Last Beginning (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Childhood Trauma, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Physical Conflict, Repressed Memories, Rough Sex, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckTingle/pseuds/ChuckTingle
Summary: Daichi puts Clone Sachika on his radar, and Mamoru's disapproval unveils some dark truths about his father that he had forgotten until that night.[ Part of my personalSeries of 8 Fucked Up Ficsfor each of the main Zanki characters. Stay tuned for more, but there's no realistic timeframe. ]
Relationships: Mamoru Ichiyo/Daichi Terashima
Series: The Seventh Sin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813408
Kudos: 3
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Greed: The Victim of Twisted Curiosity

It was a quiet day at the office until Daichi Terashima waltzed in.

“Heeeyo, guys!” He cried, pushing through the swinging door into the break room and striking a pose where he pointed at nothing in particular. “How’re my favorite science nerds?”

A group of scientists conversing next to the vending machines turned in his direction and waved amiably, beckoning him to join in on their conversation. Around the office, people regarded Daichi as a kind of spectacle–– and that he surely was. Daichi Terashima was someone who nobody really liked, but everyone liked to talk to. He was like a cryptid, whom without proof, through stories alone, one could never be convinced exists. Two of these particular scientists weren’t _friends_ with Daichi per se, but they were closer to him than most, which meant they got the most material out of him. In the end, it was an office-wide social experiment: who could get to the bottom of who their unpredictable boss really is?

Mamoru had been calmly enjoying a sandwich at a table until then, but it seemed his late dinner break was about to get a little less peaceful and a lot more annoying. Daichi started shooting glances at his direction and calling, “Ichiyo! Hey, Ichiyo!” Rolling his eyes, Mamoru elected to ignore his father’s attempts at getting his attention, instead staying focused on his food. He would eat quickly and get back to work. Realizing Mamoru didn’t want to talk to him, Daichi frowned and allowed his other colleagues to converse with him.

“Where were you today, boss?”

“Yeah, it’s already eight o’clock. We all were about to go home.”

“We thought you’d finally lost it and walked out on the whole thing.”

“Well,” Daichi’s voice took on a hushed tone and the three scientists all leaned in to hear the gossip, “you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

One of the scientists scoffed. “Terashima, none of us are remotely surprised anymore by the things you do. Once I saw you feed a rat to its own mother.”

Daichi shrugged. “Rats get hungry. I’m telling you, guys… it’s different this time.”

Eyebrows were raised all around, but one skeptical-looking scientist took a sip from his coffee and gestured for him to continue. “Well. We’re waiting. Go on.”

Clearing his throat, Daichi straightened his stature to his full unimpressive height and began. “Well, I rolled out of bed around noon, but I was hungover. So, I wandered around my house for a bit trying to figure out what to do with my day— then I realized I was supposed to be at work!”

So far, the scientists were unimpressed, but Mamoru found himself reluctantly intrigued by the conversation. He chewed his sandwich softly and listened as Daichi continued. He wasn’t really that hungry, and the sandwich tasted dry and bland, but he knew it was important that he tried to eat more. The last few times he’d weighed himself, he had been significantly underweight.

“So, I came in, sat at my desk, but I couldn’t focus on anything, you know?” Daichi continued. “Sometimes that happens to geniuses. Anyway, I got up and went to walk around the facility, hoping I could find a way to clear my mind. Then it hit me: I was horny as a dog.”

“It took you that long to realize you… were horny?” A scientist raised his brow and Mamoru sighed, regretting immediately that he had decided to listen. He attempted to tune them out again.

“Someone like _you_ wouldn’t get it, but there’s a lot on my mind every day.” Daichi waved his hand. “Moving on. With a new goal in mind, I was on the prowl, but I wasn’t having any luck.”

“Well, yeah, most of us who work here are married—”

“Then, I saw her. The clone. Clone Sachika.”

A silence came over the entire room. Mamoru almost choked on his final bite of sandwich and his heart sank to the floor. Sachika? Daichi had done something to Sachika? His immediate panic dissipated into mild concern when he reminded himself of the sad, bitter truth: Sachika was dead. This clone was a failed facsimile.

“You… you really did it, huh Terashima?” A scientist asked with wide, almost envious eyes.

“I never thought even you would stoop so low,” another scientist said, shaking his head. “Isn’t she like, twelve years old?”

“I mean, sure, I _guess,_ ” Daichi shrugged away the notion. “Technically, she’s only a couple months old. But, she’s a clone! It’s not like she’s a real child. She’s just a shell that _looks_ like Sachika, and man… let me tell you—”

The scientist who had complained simply kept shaking his head and walked wordlessly out of the room. Mamoru considered doing the same, but he found himself frozen in his seat. The images in his head were sickening and vile. The _images_. Sachika… No, _Clone_ Sachika, helpless before his mad scientist of a father. He shook his head and attempted to push the thoughts away, but Daichi was still talking about it.

“She was so tight, you know? Literally never even been touched before. Do you know how rare that is these days?”

“I’m jealous,” one of the remaining men sighed, crossing his arms. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a virgin.”

The other man shrugged. “I’ve done it. Overrated.”

“Not this time,” Daichi assured, shaking his head in disbelief as though he were still reeling from the experience. “It was amazing. Honestly, I’m thinking I might hit her up more often.”

“Why not? She’s always hanging around with that sullen look on her face… it’s pathetic. Just reminds us all of the fact that she was a failure. She could stand to have a good time every once in a while.”

The group fell silent for a few moments and one of the scientists coughed. Mamoru hadn’t noticed it happen, but his fingers were now clenched into tight white-knuckled fists. The entire story infuriated him on a deep, visceral level. He let so many of the things his father did slide on a regular basis… but not this. Not this.

“Well, Terashima, it’s quittin’ time,” said the scientist, tossing his coffee cup in the trash. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

The other scientist chimed in: “If he even remembers to show up!”

The two scientists laughed together and Daichi rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. So funny! Talk to you later.”

The men walked out the door, leaving only Mamoru and Daichi in the room. There were no windows in this room, but if there were, it would have been pitch black outside. It was late, and Mamoru wanted to go home for the night, but he was seething from what his father had spoken about.

“So, you were going to ignore me, huh, Mamoru?” Daichi asked him, sidling up next to his table and plopping down in a vacant chair. “I thought we were friends!”

Mamoru closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to compose himself. Upon calming himself down enough to speak without venom, he said, “You had sex with the clone.”

Daichi furrowed his brow. “Yeah? So what?”

“You had _sex_ ,” Mamoru repeated, immediately losing the calm demeanor he had tried to hard to cultivate, “with _Clone Sachika._ ”

“You said it yourself; she’s just a clone!” Daichi insisted, crossing his arms like an indignant child. “She bears no resemblance to our dear Sachika…”

Mamoru scoffed, raising a hand to rub his temple. “Oh, no. No resemblance at all. She only looks like her in every conceivable way.”

“Looks aren’t everything, Mamoru,” Daichi said. “You of all people should know this. You’re just a scrawny kid. This clone doesn’t _act_ like Sachika at all!”

“Like you care how someone _acts_ ,” Mamoru spat, throwing a harsh glare at his father. “Everyone’s just an object to you, or, or–– an experiment!”

“Oh, because suddenly _you’re_ the moral authority,” Daichi sneered, leaning back in his chair and cracking a wide smirk. “You wanted to clone Sachika just as much as I did. You dare to disrespect the inevitability of death, then attack me for taking advantage of the new life we accidentally created? Ha! You play god, Mamoru, and you _are_ god. There is no turning back.”

“No. I’m not like you,” Mamoru said, shaking his head. “I have no intention of ‘playing god.’ I just want my sister back.”

“Intended or not, kiddo, you’re playing god.” Daichi leaned in close to Mamoru, so close that he could see the plaque on his father’s teeth as he spoke. Mamoru recoiled slightly and turned his head away. Something about the man’s face disgusted him. Something about his proximity put him on edge, and it wasn’t just the pressure to succeed he’d been put under in his youth. “After all, Mamoru, don’t you want to be good for something?”

“Shut up. Shut _up!_ ” Mamoru glared daggers at Daichi, who stood from his chair and started laughing like a maniac. As the guffaw subsided, Daichi threw his arms out to the sides.

“I created Clone Sachika, and I will do whatever I fucking _want_ with her, do you hear me? Who are you to stop me? Some disappointment of a son that never amounted to anything? Hah! Yeah _right!_ ”

Mamoru couldn’t take it any longer, standing up and looking Daichi in his dark, twisted eyes. At his full height, the young man actually had a few centimeters on his father. “What sort of sick satisfaction do you get out of talking to me that way? I’ve worked my _entire_ life trying to please you.”

“Ha! What, you think you’d fill the role better? Yeah, right!” Daichi snickered. “Been there done that, and you know what? The clone still managed to do it better.”

At first, he didn’t process those words, but they trickled slowly into Mamoru’s mind. He froze. “What did you just say?”

“The clone, Mamoru. It’s a better lay than you were.”

Mamoru fell silent for a few moments, staring vacantly at the floor. What… was Daichi saying? They’d never done anything like that… right? He was his father. His _actual_ father. No cloning was involved whatsoever. If something like that had happened to him, he would remember, right? Daichi was bluffing.

Jolting Mamoru out of his thoughts, Daichi scoffed loudly. Mamoru looked up at him and the face that looked back was wide-eyed, having already picked up based on body language exactly what was going through his son’s head. Daichi raised his eyebrows. “Oh shit… do you really not remember?”

“Wh- What are you talking about?” Mamoru stammered, clutching his own arms. “I… Of course I remember.”

“Hah! You really don’t know!” Daichi was taken aback, shaking his head in utter disbelief. He crossed his arms. “Wow… well, I guess I can’t blame you. If I could forget that shitty sex, I would too.”

“No… It can’t be.” Mamoru said softly. “You’re lying.”

His head was spinning with thoughts, none of which came together to form a coherent memory, nor any actual feelings. Instead, he stood in his shaking skin, unable to figure out what was going on in his own mind. This couldn’t be real, right? He often felt this dazed and disconnected in dreams. That had to be it, after all.

“Hey, Mamoru, it’s okay! You don’t need to feel bad about it. I mean, yeah, it was bad, but that was back then, you know? Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Mamoru was still unable to find words or parsable thoughts. Instead, he looked around the room aimlessly, wondering if somehow, something in it could anchor him to reality, because this certainly was _not_ real. In the end, all he could find to lock onto was Daichi himself, who was still smiling, almost pitying. Suddenly, Mamoru realized exactly why the sight of his face made him sick.

_“Hey, Mamo-chan?”_

Ten year-old Mamoru had looked up, and seen that same smiling face.

_“We’re going to do a different kind of test today, okay, son?”_

_“Yeah, that’s right… mm. How does that feel?”_

Before he could allow himself to remember anything further, Mamoru collapsed to the ground with his hands on his head. A high-pitched note sounded in his ears and he trembled on his knees. He couldn’t hear his own words, but he was muttering something over and over. The only alternative, it seemed, to the crushing reality of his memories, was to face their maker, Daichi Terashima himself.

“...matter anyway. Hey. What’s your problem?”

The man’s words pierced through Mamoru’s defensive veil, and he found himself suddenly forced to feel. He felt his knees ache from slamming so quickly to the tile floor, his fingers tense and clenched, and his intestines, tied in a knot and pulling tighter and tighter. His head was light, and it wasn’t until Daichi spoke again that he realized he needed to breathe.

“Oh, come on. Get up. Get over it. It’s not your fault you’re decidedly mediocre.”

Mediocre. That word, a familiarity, brought Mamoru closer to the surface. Still kneeling, shaking too hard to even begin to stand, Mamoru looked at his father. It was that same face as that day, but it wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead, Daichi regarded his son with his nose turned up and his eyes narrow. Disappointment. That look? He knew it better than the smile.

“So... you did that.” Mamoru said simply, using only the words he could manage to find. “Back then. You. Me.”

“Unfortunately.” Daichi wrinkled his face up. “It’s been a while, but I remember thinking, ‘He’s not good for anything else.’ Turns out you were just good for nothing!”

Mamoru, now finding himself somewhere between the past and the present, could no longer look at Daichi without memories of that day flooding back to him. The deviant sparkle in his father’s eye as he held out his hand and told young Mamoru to take it. Guided him to the bedroom. His parents bedroom. His mother... was there? Was she watching? Did she approve of this?

“I can’t believe you… would do that…” Mamoru managed to say as he revolved again to the present. “To Sachika. To me.”

“Sachika this, Sachika that!” Daichi mocked, making a hand puppet that Mamoru assumed was supposed to be him. “Get real. You don’t give a single shit about that worthless clone. You tried to save her, sure, but I see the way you look at her. You _know_ she’s not your sister, and she never, ever will be.”

His sister. He remembered something else about his sister. When she came to him that day in the infirmary and, stifling tears, told him that she was unhappy at home. Of course she was. Daichi did nothing but pressure his kids, and given that she was actually the prodigy child he had been hoping for, it had to have been worse than what he had gone through as a pitifully average boy. Mamoru saw himself in her. Whether Daichi had touched her or not, Mamoru didn’t know, but one thing he did know was that he had to get her out of that house. Thank god he had gotten her out of that house… had it been in time?

Had Daichi hurt the real Sachika as well?

“You’re a monster,” Mamoru said, letting out a panicked laugh and shaking his head. “I always knew you were a terrible person… but this? This is insanity.”

“Insanity is the layman’s word for genius.” Daichi clasped his hands together and stretched them over his head. “You’re seriously mad about the clone? Fine. You think you can do better? We––”

“Stop, just, _stop it!_ ” Mamoru yelled, unsure where the heat within him had come from. He hadn’t felt this angry in… well, since Sachika died. He took the brief moment Daichi took to process the outburst to struggle dizzily to his feet. They weighed him to the spot like anchors, so there he stood, facing the second-most despicable man he could possibly think of. He took a deep breath and pushed his sweaty hair out of his face. “You… are never to touch her again. I don’t care if she’s not my sister. I don’t even care if she’s not Sachika. You do _not_ touch her. Ever.”

Daichi held his hands up defensively and rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m _so_ sorry, Mamoru. I didn’t realize you had balls.”

“You make me fucking sick…” Mamoru hissed, taken aback by his own use of profanity. He clenched his hands again into fists. “I’m taking the clone. We’re leaving. I’m not coming back.”

“And where will you go? How will you live?” Daichi asked, scratching at his goatee. “You wouldn’t last one day alone with that false girl before you cracked and came running back to papa. You know what, son, how about we make a deal?”

“I don’t make deals with criminals.”

Shrugging, Daichi took a step towards Mamoru, who still found himself cemented to his spot. “That’s a shame. I was going to say, how about you show me if you’ve changed?”

Mamoru squinted and shook his head. “What?”

“Show me you can do better than you did back then. Prove to me that you’re good for _something_. If you do, I’ll leave clone Sachika alone.”

“You’re crazy,” Mamoru told him, his words sending shivers up his spine. Finally, he was able to unglue his feet and take a step back. “I don’t believe you for a second.”

“Oh, don’t try and act like you aren’t curious,” Daichi murmured, stepping closer and closer. “I bet you have plenty more experience now than you did then. It’s conceivable that you _could_ show me a good time.”

“Get away from me!” Mamoru growled, shoving away the hand Daichi began reaching towards him. “You’re mad if you think I’d even _consider_ that, even for a second?”

“Oh, consider it considered,” Daichi said, this time wasting no energy and grabbing Mamoru by the back of the neck. This gesture struck Mamoru like a ton of bricks and he froze up again. He started to recall a snippet from back then, on that day he had forgotten, but before he could process the childhood memory, he was forced to relive it. Daichi pushed his thin chapped lips against Mamoru’s and his body went limp like a ragdoll.

He didn’t want to be his father’s ragdoll. Not today. Not again. He pushed Daichi away and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his lab coat. Daichi only watched with deviant satisfaction, becoming, for once in Mamoru’s adult life, extremely interested in his son. He tapped his fingers on his chin thoughtfully but broke out of his contemplation when he saw that Mamoru was moving towards the door.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Daichi grabbed Mamoru by the sleeve of his coat and pulled it. Mamoru shook his arm out of Daichi’s grip.

“ _Stop,_ Terashima!” Mamoru growled, wishing he could find the will within him to scowl into his father’s eyes, but he feared what he would see in them. “I thought you were into helpless little children and women who are smarter than you? You know by now I’m mediocre. Why bother me now? Just, why? Leave me alone. I’m going home.”

“I am _not_ into _children_!” Daichi retorted. “I’m into _experimenting_ , Mamo-chan!”

“Do _not_ call me that!” Mamoru shuddered, and he wasn’t moving towards the door anymore. He was moving back into his memories, where he couldn’t deny the fact that his father was sexually violating him, because he was young, he was just a boy, and it was happening. Now, in the break room, it was happening just like then, except he wasn’t a child anymore.

Or was he?

His breath caught in his throat. Daichi was kissing him again. No. He was not a child anymore. He refused to give in so easily–– he was _not_ a child, and would not be easily manipulated into giving his father what he wanted. Mamoru tried to push Daichi away, only this time, Daichi responded with force, pushing back with greater pressure and wrapping his arm around Daichi’s back.

“D- Dad…” Mamoru murmured, certain that he had not called him that since he was a child. Daichi pulled away and quirked an eyebrow. “Please stop. I get it. You’re messing with me. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Then certainly you’ll fight back, right? I like a little conflict in the bedroom.”

Daichi’s retreat was short lived and he pressed closer to Mamoru, grabbing his waist and pressing his midsection to his own. Mamoru shoved him away and tried to side-step around him, but Daichi wasn’t fooling around anymore. He was serious when he said he wanted a fight, and Mamoru would give it to him. In response to the insubordination, Daichi reached out to grab Mamoru’s retreating arm, but Mamoru jerked it away just in time. Daichi frowned and stuck out his leg, tripping Mamoru, but not enough for him to fall, only stumble and jump a few feet forward. Mamoru whirled around and faced his father. So much was written on his face it was impossible to read–– paragraphs and paragraphs all layered on top of each other, almost totally black with ink. Pain. Fear. Adrenaline. Hope. All these things wrote stories in Mamoru’s expression, but Daichi could only make out one of them.

Fear.

“Wow, Mamo-chan,” Daichi teased, now standing between Mamoru and the door. “You have a lot more fire in you than I expected.”

“I’m not everything you think I am,” Mamoru snarled, but his posture betrayed him, arms crossed nervously over his chest.

Scoffing, Daichi lunged forward and shoved Mamoru’s shoulders. As he stumbled back, his crossed arms unfolded and reached out to defend, but Daichi was already moving his hands to meet them, gripping his son by the wrists and pushing them forward until he slammed him against a tall metal cabinet. There was almost no resistance from the thin shell of a man, and the force almost knocked the wind out of Mamoru. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing full well that if he opened them, he’d see that twisted gleam of curiosity in his father’s eyes. Not everything was the same as it had been when he was a child. That gleam had not been there before–– there was softness then. The will to fight back was also new, but it seemed to be getting torn away from him every minute. He attempted to push back against his father’s arms, but he was skin and bones: a malnourished young adult, arm-wrestling with someone whose power lay not only in his strength, but in his titles. Genius. Scientist. Doctor. Boss. Father.

“You’re giving in already, huh?” Daichi said in Mamoru’s ear. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You really are a twig these days, aren’t you? I could snap you in half if I wanted to…”

Mamoru’s breath hitched in his throat and he still could not bear to open his eyes. His fingers flexed beneath Daichi’s cruel, unforgiving grip, but there was nothing he could do… unless.

Without hesitation, Mamoru kneed Daichi in the crotch. The man doubled over, cursing, and Mamoru hyperventilated. He looked at his now-free hands, bewildered, then side to side. He visualized the path; past his father, through the door. Every instinct should have told him to run while he had the chance, but he was frozen again, trapped in the dissociative purgatory between his present and his past. He was still coming to terms with the fact that anything had happened back then at all, and every time that reality poked itself into the forefront of his mind, Mamoru felt like a child again. Having been so close to being helpless, with the all-too-familiar feeling of bony fingers wrapped around his wrists, Mamoru wasn’t even sure he’d grown up at all.

“Y- You wanna play dirty, huh?” Daichi growled, using the handle of the cabinet to steady himself as he rose to his feet. “Fine. Your call.”

It hit Mamoru in that moment that he’d missed his window of opportunity. Daichi was on his feet now. In a panic, Mamoru started down the straight path towards the door. It wasn’t even that far, but Daichi was too fast, lunging down and yanking him by the foot. Mamoru collapsed to the ground. He scrambled to his feet but Daichi was in the way of the door again. Daichi went for the shoulders again but Mamoru pushed his hands back and the two grappled for a few moments before everything, in one fluid motion, resolved.

Mamoru’s feet were swept out from under him and before he could react, he found himself pinned, face down, to the table in the middle of the room. His mouth hung agape, his thoughts a twirling cloud of distress and denial. It wasn’t until his father’s eccentric voice broke the silence that he truly comprehended how doomed he was.

“Checkmate, Mamoru. Now, can you at least _try_ to be good at it? This is the test of your true potential.”

No words were worth saying at this point. Mamoru knew what happened from here. He could have kept fighting, but he didn’t have a single drop of energy left in him, mentally or physically. His father’s words rung in his head: “I like a little conflict in the bedroom.” Just another way Mamoru had disappointed him. Their conflict had resolved far too quickly. Those fingers curled around his arms again, and he closed his eyes. Maybe if he floated far enough away from his body, he’d forget again. Forget what happened then, and forget what was happening now. As Daichi pulled down Mamoru’s pants and pressed his hard cock against his ass, Mamoru knew there was no way he would forget this. The memories had resurfaced, lodged themselves in, and they were here to stay, for better or for worse.

Daichi was completely focused on the task at hand, and had no taunts or banter to offer. Even if he had, Mamoru was in no condition to respond. Daichi entered him slowly, almost carefully, as though he really _did_ want Mamoru to enjoy it, if only so that he’d try harder to make it an enjoyable experience for him as well. Mamoru knew he would disappoint him. He knew no other way to manage this without going numb, and to go numb was to be inactive and uninteresting. To his father, an uninteresting subject of intercourse was no better than a lifeless doll. Even a clone would be better... and she was.

Having let go of Mamoru’s arms, Daichi thrust himself into Mamoru at a steadily quickening rate. Mamoru lay limp as a ragdoll, head lolled to one side where he stared blankly down the length of his thin, muscleless arm. If he had cared even one bit about his body, despite how deeply he cared about the health of those around him, he could have been stronger. This might never have happened if he’d just been able to deck his father into the file cabinet, beat him unconscious. These thoughts settled in his mind more calmly than he figured they would. As Daichi violated him, Mamoru only dreamed of having the power to violate him back. He could never stoop so low as sexual assault, but the violent urges kept him from crying. In an attempt not to think about the disgusting, pleasured grunts his own blood father made above him, he thought of built up biceps where he only had skin and veins, the ability to win against the man who had defeated him. Defeated. When your dad had physically fought you for the opportunity to take you against the break room table, it was the only way to feel.

Maybe if Mamoru _had_ been able to get into it, Daichi would have finished faster. Instead, he continued penetrating a near-motionless shell, struggling to keep himself hard. Frustrated, Daichi grabbed a fistful of Mamoru’s thick hair and pulled his head off the table. It hurt, but Mamoru was too zoned out to feel it.

“Jesus! Would you man up, for once in your life?” Daichi grunted between thrusts, and Mamoru squeezed his eyes shut. “Look alive.”

Easier said than done. Mamoru exhaled and managed to move his useless, feeble arms so that he was resting on his elbows. Daichi pulled Mamoru’s head back until his neck strained and thrusted harder. He leaned over his son, tilted his head to the side, and looked into his lifeless eyes. Somehow, that seemed to do it for him. Daichi groaned and let go of Mamoru’s hair, instead opting to grip him by the bony rib cage. He dug his nails in deep, managing to evoke a plaintive moan of discomfort from Mamoru. It was another little victory over him, and every time Daichi managed to snap Mamoru out of his dissociative state, it made fucking his son feel like less of a chore. Really, he was hoping he’d be better this time. It was exhausting having a kid who’s such a disappointment.

It was more exhausting, however, to be a disappointment, and that was what Mamoru continued to be, on and off, between moments of Daichi messing with him, trying his best to make the experience more enjoyable for himself. He slapped him. Scratched him. Shoved his head into the table. Eventually, Daichi managed to build himself up to climax, and unceremoniously came inside him. It was then, above all, that Mamoru felt like he did back then. It was the same feeling of utter humiliation and confusion, as the lingering sensation of liquid violation dripped slowly out of him. There was nothing like it, and he could think of nothing worse.

Daichi huffed, like he’d finished an arduous, boring task, and wiped his hands on his lab coat. “Well, that was useless. You couldn’t even try, huh? You couldn’t even give enough of a shit to make me proud? Just this once? Tch. My fault, I guess… for having faith in a nobody.”

Mamoru slowly lifted his torso off the table, extending his shaking arms until his elbows locked. He couldn’t help but stare again at those little stick limbs of his. He blinked, stood up, and pulled his pants up, too out of it to care about his own father’s come inside him. Would this moment ever fade back into the recesses of his mind, or would he be forced to remember it, and back then, forever, until the day he died?

“Sorry I wasted your time,” Daichi said, as though that were the only thing he had done wrong, and he fully believed it. “Next time, I’ll stick to the clone.”


End file.
